


track 2: hymnals

by blifuys



Series: waking up the giants: fe3h song week [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Set before Tailtean Plains, Sex to cope from the Bad Things, Specifically Crimson Flower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22652167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blifuys/pseuds/blifuys
Summary: and we don't know what we're waiting for // and we don't know the truth anymore // and we can't see clearly through the fog // so we end up chasin' ghosts // well outside these walls // we're criminalsin the final hours leading up to their battle against Kingdom and Church forces, Felix battles with his own demons, and Sylvain helps him to feel again.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: waking up the giants: fe3h song week [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627228
Kudos: 35





	track 2: hymnals

**Author's Note:**

> now if you asked my friends, you'd find out that while i was writing this entire thing, i was cringing because of heavy embarrassment. for all i like to joke about dick n peen (haha) writing your own porn is a WHOLE NEW LEVEL OF EMBARRASSMENT, and i can only hope this one was satisfactory!!!!!!!
> 
> thanks for reading, as always. i read all comments, and while i am VERY backlogged in replying, i am always so thankful for your responses!! 
> 
> this entry into the fe3h songweek is based off of hymnals - grizfolk, from their album: waking up the giants. 
> 
> [hymnals - grizolk, click here to listen!!](https://open.spotify.com/track/02EiS6xZRVvRP6GawpZR65?si=PwsBSyYJT8mNwtc3cXuVGQ)

Somewhere on their bodies, pressed together as they tuck themselves away off the outskirts of their camp, he thinks he can feel blood on their skin.

It shouldn’t make sense. Their last battle was two days ago, they’ve been clean since then. But wherever Sylvain brushes his strong, desperate hands over, the warmth that he leaves behind feels too much like the crimson of former friends and enemies alike. 

He hates it. 

They’re two days away from a critical battle, a face-off against Kingdom and Church forces alike. There is so much for both of them to do. Felix, in particular, has been deployed in the main force—meaning a face-off against Dimitri is highly likely. He’s waited for this moment since the day the boar reared its ugly head, all those years ago. He should be ecstatic, full of joy, excited. 

He’s not. More than anything, he feels like he wants to tear off his own skin—crumple in on himself and  _ explode _ . He’d rather do anything else than to face off against the last of his homeland, ending Faerghus with the single thrust of his sword through a chest or a slice across the jugular. It would be so easy, and it scares him that the end is near. 

These last few days have proven to be highly taxing, emotionally and mentally. It all began to go downhill once they set foot on Faerghan land, as they marched through the familiar barren lands he’s grown up with. So many memories threatening to spill out of his head, and Felix found himself feeling  _ things _ he’s thought to have long forgotten. Despair, sorrow, desperation—all in one. 

Their lips are locked in a desperate battle against no one but themselves. He’s sandwiched between the bark of a cold, frosted tree and Sylvain, Felix’s gloved hands curled into his broad shoulders—as if somehow frightened that Sylvain could leave the next moment. 

The roar of thunder growls in the distance as the sky darkens on them. Despite his departure five years ago, it seems that Faerghus hasn’t changed a single bit. The country is as gloomy as ever. The air still chills to the bone, radiating an oppressive pressure that seems to affect only the Faerghans. Being here always feels like returning to a death sentence, with nowhere to go. 

But they’ve made their choice five years prior. There is nowhere else for them to call home, and all they can do to see this hell to the very end. 

Sylvain pulls back slightly, his lips brushing against Felix’s while their breaths mingle in a hot cloud between them. Desperately, the hands on Sylvain’s shoulders squeeze harder as he draws him back in, silently pleading for more— _ more,  _ until the growing pit in his heart closes up and scars over. He knows they need this, Felix and Sylvain both. The need to destroy each other and build each other back up again has persisted for five long years—a necessity when it comes to fighting against everything you’ve known, and everything you will ever know. 

“ _ Hurry _ ,” It surprises Felix to hear his own voice so  _ pained _ , broken even. He doesn’t know why he’s so frantic to lay before Sylvain like this, like his mind is racing so fast that it all turns into a blur. “I need it.”

Sylvain doesn’t hesitate, especially since Felix had—in his own way—asked so desperately. He feels his fingers curl into the meat of his thighs, and the next moment he’s being lifted a little higher, pinned against the tree. It’s not surprising to see Sylvain like this, as impatient and pushy as he is. In the five years their limbs have been tangled deep in the night, the shape of him burned into Felix’s mind, he knows that they won’t be stopping anytime soon. Not until they’re blurred into one, unbreakable. 

“Impatient.” Sylvain snarls at him, and Felix feels the chills run down his spine. 

They’re not supposed to be here, hidden in the woods as they find comfort and solace in each other. They’re supposed to be joining the others in the war tent, sitting in council and working with them to demolish their enemies once and for all. They’ve performed unspeakable horrors in the last five years alongside these people, every last drop of blood on their hands under  _ their _ name—attached to the Empire’s. 

But there’s only so much one can shoulder until the weight on their sins drag them down, like shackles around ankles. 

Felix’s head feels like it’s about to explode from the horrible thoughts that run through him. 

Lips and teeth under Felix’s jaw bring him back to reality, pulling him out of his thoughts as he resurfaces from the deepest waters of his mind. He focuses on the way Sylvain has him pinned and trapped, his pants partially pulled off his hips while cold fingers slide around the ring of muscle. 

" _ Please, _ " He whines under his breath. Felix doesn't think he can take it anymore. He needs to work off this energy somehow, to burn everything to a crisp and destroy  _ everything  _ in his wake, all signs of his past returned to the wind from whence it came. He doesn't beg, not usually, and he'd rather throw himself into the heat of battle than to show Sylvain what he's really thinking.

But Sylvain doesn't listen. He proceeds to suck a little harder on Felix's neck, leaving small bruises like a warning to anyone who dares to come near Felix, little spots of dark purple a declaration that he's  _ taken _ . He rolls his hips against Felix's, and the smaller man can just  _ feel _ how hard Sylvain is, tense and erratic energy under his skin just waiting for release. 

He can tell that the redhead—usually so easy going and relaxed—has something he's hiding too. They're both self-destructing into themselves, and it's only time before it manifests into something more dangerous. 

"Tell me what you want," Sylvain demands, his voice so low that Felix can feel it reverb in his chest. "Tell me, and I'll do it."

"I… please.  _ Fuck me _ ." He doesn't feel the need to pretend. He can't any longer, and thankfully, Sylvain's more than happy to indulge him.

Forget the fact that people are probably looking for them. The Empire can honestly go and throw itself off a cliff, he doesn't care (—not that he ever has, mind you—) what they want or need from him. He's given  _ everything _ to them, even his soul. They should give him just this one thing.

He learned who they're working with last night. 

It's the reason why he's so on the edge, so close to detonating and exploding, why his heart pounding in his ears only irritates him further. He found out exactly  _ who _ they're working with, and everything they've done so long ago finally clicking into place—the final pieces of a puzzle completing the gaps in his understanding that he didn't realise existed in the first place. 

It was through documents sent to him from the usual Imperial messenger, people he thought worked for Edelgard and her cause, not against it. The folders looked innocent enough as he set them on his lap last night, in front of the lone flame as everyone in the world ceases to exist for the night, only him alone with his thoughts. 

He was so ready to finish his job. 

Thinking back, it felt so much like a countdown to disaster. The inconspicuous Empire-red hard cover folder staring back at him, bearing the crest of the eagle embossed in gold. He thought these were official plans for him to look over, detailing their upcoming invasion. 

He was wrong.

Felix didn't know what he expected—a boring paper to nag him to sleep, a ripped out page from a tomb— _ heck,  _ even a poisoned letter would have been much better than what showed itself last night.

**[Operation Duscur]**

His eyes snapped wide open, his blood ran cold, and while everything inside of him screamed to stop reading, to  _ close the fucking folder, now _ , he didn't. 

He spent all night, finishing every last page of that document, consuming and registering every single word. 

Felix Hugo Fraldarius, false heir to House Fraldarius, had made the biggest mistake in his life, five years ago.

To top it off, he had dragged an innocent in. He didn't stop Sylvain then, didn't stop Sylvain when his childhood friend had taken up arms under a red banner beside him without hesitation—like he had wanted to defy his Homeland for years. The decision came to them like second nature, but those who leap before they look are doomed to fail. 

And fail he did.

Jolting him out of his distracted head again, Sylvain's hand wraps around his length, dragging long and hard strokes up his girth. He's not as gentle as he usually is, and the sharp, predatory stare makes him feel smaller, less in-control,  _ helpless _ . 

And it feels so damn  _ good _ . 

Felix moans quietly while his partner eases his legs open further with his hips, his other hand busy while his fingers tease his entrance, stretching him out. The lack of control he has with Sylvain keeps him at ease, ironically, where the chaos five years ago would have sent him mad. It's one aspect of his life where he  _ doesn't  _ have to take responsibility for his actions—and that fact alone offers him comfort. A peace of mind. 

" _ Sylvain, _ " Felix breathes out while Sylvain's lips find a sensitive spot against his throat again. "Sylvain…" 

"Shh."

He's so  _ needy _ . He wants to surrender, to lose control and let everything go like water under a bridge. He doesn't know what tomorrow will bring—who else he'll kill, how many  _ more  _ he'll kill now that he knows the truth. The irony where he had turned his back against a King who knew nothing but to kill, he realises that a boar had resided in him this entire time. 

The slick noises make him blush. The feel of Sylvain's tongue moving down his throat and over his collarbones, paired with how expertly he's being played with—and the feel of how hard Sylvain is on his ass. It's too much, he proves to be too much when minutes later, he's nearing the edge, so close till he—

The hand stops moving, and Sylvain suddenly pulls his head away. 

"...?!" He was so close, so close to getting what he wanted. How dare Sylvain deny him, how dare he—

"We play by  _ my _ rules today."

Felix feels himself being roughly shifted away from the tree, his back meeting the cold Faerghan air for just a moment, before he realises he’s staring up at the darkening sky. The heavy rain clouds loom over them both, but Sylvain doesn’t seem to care. His honey-brown eyes are locked on Felix like he’s a piece of meat, and while he  _ should _ feel unnerved, he feels himself shiver with excitement instead. 

Seems like he’s long forgotten how to feel and react like a normal person. 

“You—I knew you were a pervert—” Felix begins, having not realised how  _ utterly insatiable _ Sylvain can really be. But before he continues, the sound of hand smacking against skin fills the space around them, and he notices the slight sting on his bare asscheek. He makes a sound of surprise, eyes widening at him, feeling overwhelmed at this sudden dominance from the man pinning him down— 

“You come to my tent, drag me out here and make me start fucking you. And you call  _ me _ insatiable, Felix? Maybe you don’t quite understand your position here.” 

“You—”

_ Smack _ . A little harder this time, but it leaves Felix wanting more. He wants it to hurt more, until he’s left useless and without any fight left in him. He wants— _ he wants—  _

“What  _ do _ you want, kitten?” Sylvain asks, the grip on Felix’s ass tightening in a squeeze, and Felix finds himself angling his hips a little more, just so that he had more access to him. His face glows—he actually feels the burn in his cheeks—and his pride screams at him to stop,  _ don’t say a word, this isn’t you at all.  _

“... ‘ck me.” He mutters quietly, the embarrassment mixing with lust as he gives in. 

“What was that?” Another rough squeeze, his hand trailing up to rest on Felix’s slim hip as he rubs circles into his hipbone—teasing. 

“I said,  _ fuck me, _ ” Felix says louder this time, almost demanding even.

"Are you sure you should be ordering me around like that?" Sylvain's lips curl downward in a frown, disapproving. He doesn't make any move to take him, halting any form of stimulation on Felix.

It's too much for him to bear. 

"Shit,  _ please _ , Sylvain. Please fuck me." 

It seems begging works, because the next thing he knows, Sylvain’s reaching down to his own red breeches, undoing the fastenings before he pulls a sizeable length out, all for Felix and Felix alone. 

He doesn’t think he can take it anymore. Every passing second is a second gone—a second closer to their impending clash in the historical plains off the outskirts of Fhirdiad. He doesn’t know if he’ll have a second chance at this—he doesn’t even  _ know _ if he’ll live to see the next sunrise, these days. So for once, for once in his entire brotherless life, he lets his pride go. He’s fucked up  _ so much _ , he’ll let himself accept it this once, and resign control to the man who wants to hold him through everything. 

“That’s more like it,” Sylvain smirks, letting go of Felix as he reaches behind him with his other hand, fishing a small crystal bottle out of his back pocket. “Open wide, baby.” 

Within seconds, he hears the telltale squelch of slick on fingers, a thick consistency coating Sylvain’s digits while Felix focuses on  _ anywhere _ but him. Sylvain is dangerous, at the very least, when he’s serious. 

“Look at me, Felix,” He calls for his attention again, wanting to hold his gaze, for Felix to watch every single movement, achingly slow and purposefully dragged out for the full effect. Felix’s eyes flicker back over to the man’s frame, watching him move his hand up and down his thick member, feeling something coil in his abdomen from how desperate he feels. “This is all for you.”

_ All for me. _

“Sylvain,” He breathes out, reaching up to circle his hand around his own cock. The sight is way too much for him to handle, too erotic for him to  _ stay still _ . But before he can move, Sylvain reaches out and grabs his wrist, tugging his hand away. “What—”

“If you’re going to cum, you’ll cum from my cock  _ alone _ . Nothing else.” 

He very nearly opposes out loud, because why the fuck should he listen to him? It’s  _ his _ dick, he should do whatever the fuck he wants with it—but any complaint he has leaves his head when he sees the way Sylvain watches him, like a wolf hungry for its prey. 

Instead, Felix parts his legs a little wider for him. The emptiness inside him itches for more, slowly easing him into  _ giving in _ and calling for him, for Sylvain to take as much as he wants—whatever’s left of him. He reaches down and grips onto his own asscheeks, gently pulling to show himself like a silent show of submission. 

And Sylvain? Well. He was never one to reject what’s been given to him. 

“What a good kitten.” He purrs, the compliment so  _ easy _ while he moves himself against Felix’s hips once more, cock standing so proudly between his legs while his hands position themselves—one wrapped around his thigh and holding his legs apart, and the other rubbing lubed fingers against his entrance again. 

“Steady, I gotta get you ready first.” 

He holds himself apart, barely holding on while he feels Sylvain’s fingers split him open, rocking his hand slowly while he eases himself into Felix. The way his movements are so erratic makes Felix wonder if he has something he wants to get off his chest too.

For all the secrets they hide from everyone, it’s almost impossible to hide anything from Sylvain Jose Gautier. The man knows him like the back of his hand, inside and out. And—if Sylvain is anything like Felix, or even  _ more _ —he has Felix all mapped out in his head. Every subtle shift of his face, every twist of his body, impossible to hide from him. 

Five years ago, he would have cared. He would have been so bothered by the fact that someone knows him, probably better than he knew himself. But now? Alone in a foreign land, hours away from hitting the final nail in the coffin—working with the enemy, collaborating with his  _ brother’s murderers _ , the familiarity acts as a cooling agent against the wounds that seem to be splitting his skin open, pain burning deep to the pits of his heart. 

“I—can’t take it anymore,” Felix moans softly, the sound escaping him so fragile and rare that Sylvain even stills his hand in shock momentarily. “Hurry,  _ please _ , I need you.” 

“Patience, kitten. Good things come to those who wait.” He says, but the two fingers inside of him almost instantaneously leave him, leaving a void in their wake. Clearly, even if Sylvain likes to think himself as someone with divine control, he's not immune to Felix. Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to wait too long, because Sylvain very quickly positions himself in place of his digits, tip of his cock already pushing in as he eases himself into Felix—joining them both together again. 

The moan they let out feels a bit like coming home. 

It’s familiar, the stretch he is no stranger to, and the burn that he’s sure he’s addicted to spreads through his cold limbs. Finally, he begins to  _ feel _ , to feel something in place of the numb ache he’s carried in his heart for years since he said goodbye to this land once and for all. 

“That’s it, you’re taking me in  _ so good _ , Kitten… So good for me.” 

Felix arches his back from the overwhelming feeling of being filled, even more so while Sylvain steadily eases fully into him until there’s nothing left. He tries to get used to the girth inside of him, gripping and relaxing until he’s fully settled down. 

“Shit, don’t do—that, I might cum quickly—” Sylvain growls, the clenching around his cock a pleasurable squeeze. It makes Felix regain a bit of his confidence, knowing that Sylvain isn’t immune to him—as much as that disgustingly smooth playboy facade of his chooses to pretend. Perhaps they’ve learned each other over these last five years, too much to the point where Felix doesn’t think he can live a single day without him. 

It makes things easier, he supposes. Easier for him to fulfill his promise. 

“Hurry, I need it,  _ give it to me _ , fuck—”

Felix breathes out when Sylvain cuts him off with a hard thrust, choked sound broken and fragile while his hands shoot up to steady himself by grabbing Sylvain’s shoulders again. He knows he won’t last that long, but judging from how desperate and sloppy it all is, Sylvain won’t drag this out too long. 

" _Insatiable._ " The bigger man laughs harshly, breathless from how hard he's going.

They both have their reasons for being here, in that forest where no one else exists but them. The thunder above them crackles once more, warning them to  _ leave immediately _ or else. 

But they don’t listen. They never do, not when the world is ending, nor when their homeland begs for their return. Instead, they stay as the raindrops begin to fall, one by one, dripping onto the expanse of skin as they curl together like flowers in an open field. As Sylvain thrusts into him, frantic movements sending waves of pleasure down his spine with every roll of his hips, he allows himself to forget everything. 

Faerghus. Adrestia. Duscur. Glenn. His father.  _ Everything  _ and _ everyone  _ but _ Sylvain. _

His heart feels like he’s about to explode, an unpleasant squeeze around it as he feels something choke up his gullet, sour and painful. 

“Sylvain,  _ Sylvain _ ,” He keeps moaning still, as the rain begins to torrent on them both. He wants to feel all of this, to take every single feeling and keep it preserved forever, all the pleasure replacing the sheer cold of the void in his chest—unforgiving. Cruel. Unremorseful. 

“ _ Felix, _ ” Sylvain grunts while he moves his head in, his hands moving over Felix’s wrists and pinning them by his sides, holding him down while his lips ghost over his jaw—moving upwards over his cheeks, and then his lips. “Perfect. So beautiful, Felix…  _ Mine _ .” 

Their lips smash against each other while they explore each other again, as if it’s their first and last time. There’s a lot on the line for them both, so much they’ve lost and so much they can lose  _ still _ . Felix doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want to fight anymore, he doesn’t know  _ what _ they’re fighting for, who’s right and wrong in the game of war. 

If only they could turn back time. If only they could rewrite the stars, flip back the pages to where they were, where they all should be. 

Tears mix with rainwater as droplets slide down Felix’s cheeks, his head lulling back as he moans unrestrained, moving his hips as much as he can with Sylvain restricting his movements. It’s all he can focus on now, the imminent orgasm that makes itself known in his abdomen, the way Sylvain’s hitting all the right places. 

“I’m—close…” The redhead chokes out, face twisted in overwhelming pleasure, his teeth clenching from his attempt at control. Where Felix wishes to burn himself out, Sylvain hopes to quell the flames in him. 

“Fuck,  _ harder,  _ please…  _ More! _ ” 

In a last ditch effort, Sylvain throws all caution to the wind, snarling in pleasure as he ruts himself as hard as he can into Felix, the slick sounds of the oil barely heard over the rain while they fully lose themselves within each other. 

“Shit— _ shit shit shit— _ ” He moans out, before he sees white. Release comes like a drug, hitting him with pleasure and pulsing through his body like a wave crashing on shore. His toes curl, his back arches, and his fingers dig sharply into Sylvain’s shoulders. Like a wolf howling, Felix tilts his head back and cries into the air, orgasm finally coming after so  _ long _ . 

“Fe—” Sylvain joins him, barely a couple of thrusts later. On top of his own orgasm, the feeling of something warm filling him up sends his overstimulated body over the edge. 

He pants against Sylvain’s lips while he calms down, letting the rain wash them both straight down into the earth’s essence. Maybe it’ll cleanse them both of the sins and blood they carry in their names, on their hands, blades and skin—there is no point of repentance, only punishment. 

In the moments after their climax, Felix’s chest heaves from the effort, keeping himself grounded by focusing on what he can  _ feel _ —Sylvain weighing down on his torso, a chill tingeing his fingers, the rain soaking into every piece of cloth he has on his body.

Once the frenzy clears from his mind, he stares up at the dark clouds looming over them. 

Sylvain’s curled around him, silent for  _ once.  _ They have nothing to say to each other, nothing they haven’t told each other before. Whoever’s looking for them both has to wait. Ally or enemy alike, neither side matters—not anymore. 

Two traitors lay in the forests as the call of Faerghus blows through the wind, as they come home for the first time in years. 

**Author's Note:**

> \- if it wasn't clear, felix found out that the empire's working with twsitd, glenn's murderers.  
> \- so he has a little meltdown. that is ok. felix can have a little angsty breakdown.  
> \- sylvain has his own things to deal with, but they're both fuckbuddies (with heavy feelings for each other), and sex with each other is just comfort to them at this point. addictive maybe.
> 
> [keep up with my dumb shenanigans here!](https://twitter.com/nekohmy)


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